


I'm Still An Exception

by bowlingfornerds



Series: long fics [2]
Category: The 100
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Art Gallery Owner!Clarke, F/M, Fluff, Single Mother! Clarke, Slow Burn, Teacher!Bellamy, i guess, literally no one dies so thats great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy meet once, when she's twenty and he's twenty five, and all she wants is a one night stand. Instead, she gets a one night stand and a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oops I Did It Again

**Author's Note:**

> RIGHT  
> This wasn't supposed to be any longer than 5k but its about 9k so I've separated it into two parts for your reading pleasure. The second part will be out tomorrow when I've reread it and deleted all my mistakes.  
> I've been wanting to write this fic for ages - and haven't been able too - so it feels REALLY GOOD to finally put it online.  
> (I'm going for a Britney theme when titling, I think.)
> 
> ENJOY.

Clarke didn’t know how to ‘do’ one night stands. She just got drunk enough that she would lose her inhibitions and make out with strangers. If she wanted to have good old no-strings-attached sex, she would get drunk. Because sober Clarke thought things out too much, would overthink the person, and their face and the length of their fingernails, but tipsy Clarke didn’t mind at all. Tipsy Clarke was what sober Clarke wished she could be all year round.

When she was twenty, two years into med-school and in need of a release, due to the work load and the fact that she _really didn’t want to be a doctor_ , she went to a bar, and eye-fucked the bar tender until he took her into the break room and let her moan into his shoulder in time to the thumping music of the juke box. He was beautiful, the bar tender, and she couldn’t remember his name but she knew it was beautiful just like the freckles, dancing across his skin. So she kissed him and gasped into his neck, and let his hands feel out her body, because she wasn’t drunk and she’d only had a single beer but for the first time there was nothing to over-think. He was beautiful and she wanted him inside her.

At the end of his break, they pulled apart and cleaned up and Clarke left before he did; sauntering out in her high heels that made her legs look stunning, and didn’t wait for him to catch up. He was beautiful, but he wouldn’t deter her from her everyday life – she wasn’t looking for a relationship.

Even so, Clarke did come back to the bar, every now and again, to see if he was working, but never was. And she refused to feel disappointed by this, even if there was a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach.

-

A month after the hook up, she threw up. She counted backwards on her fingers to when her last period was, and she rummaged around in her and Raven’s shared bathroom for a pregnancy test.

-

Her daughter’s hair was yellow, like the sun, like Clarke’s own, and tumbled down past the small of her back. Originally, Viola was just afraid of the hair dressers, and would cry every time Clarke tried to cut her hair. After a while; her long locks of gold were a staple in her life; never to be cut again.

“Come on Rapunzel,” Raven rolled her eyes, picking up Viola and placing her on the kitchen counter. “Are you ready for your first day at Ark Primary?” Viola was eight; entering year three, and Raven didn’t live with them, but close enough that she was there as a constant reminder that she was the greatest friend Clarke could have hoped for.

“No,” Viola complained. “I don’t want to go.”

“Why not?” Clarke asked, packing her daughter’s lunch box into her backpack.

“Because I won’t know anyone there.”

“There’s Jamie and Lucy,” Raven told her with a pointed look. “They’re your best friends.” Viola shrugged.

“Maybe they’re not anymore.”

“They were here yesterday, Vi,” Clarke said softly, zipping up the bag. “I think you’re just nervous about starting a new school.”

“No I’m not!” Raven and Clarke shared a look, briefly, before the former of the two women lifted Viola back onto the floor. Clarke helped her place on her backpack, and the two left the house, Viola in tow.

“She’s a big girl now,” Raven told Clarke, loud enough for Viola to hear. “But maybe just not big enough for primary school.” Clarke nodded, mock-serious.

“I think the same. Maybe we should request for her to stay in infant school for another year.”

“Jamie and Lucy will probably miss her, but they’ll be fine,” Raven agreed.

“No!” Viola interrupted. “I don’t want to stay with the little kids.”

“Are you a big kid?” Clarke asked, crouching down to face her daughter. Viola paused before nodding. “Then big kids go to primary school.” Viola nodded, defeated, and held out her hand for Clarke to take. At the school gate, Clarke kissed the top of her head with a smile.

“Remember, Aunt Raven’s picking you up, because I’m going to be at the gallery until four.” Viola nodded, hugging her once more, and then Raven, for luck, before running off past the school gates.

-

Clarke knew that Viola’s father was the bartender, and she honestly did go looking for him. She went back to the bar so many times, describing his features that she could remember every time, and each member of staff sighed, and said that he had left. He’d quit and moved away, another told her. Clarke didn’t know if this was just a ploy – one of those things that people say because they don’t want crazy one night stands chasing after them, so she came in a lot, and sent Raven or Wells in, other times, to scope out the place with a half-decent sketch of what he looked like, and the words ‘seems perpetually grumpy’ alongside it.

Everyone came up empty handed.

She didn’t remember his name, so when Viola asked, age seven, why she didn’t have a father when all of her friends did, Clarke had sighed, and she said she didn’t know her father long enough to tell him about the baby that was growing in her stomach. Viola had nodded and sighed, and Clarke told her that she had a better deal, though. Because she had Clarke and Raven and Wells, as well as her Uncles Jasper and Monty, who brought children’s science kits every time they came over – but only with the kits that could explode.

-

“So you’re not dating Lexa anymore,” Viola started slowly, picking at her mashed potato. Clarke looked up from her food, surprised.

“I stopped dating Lexa a good few months ago, Vi,” she replied. “Why’s that?” Viola shrugged.

“This girl in my class, Jenny – she has two dads.” Clarke nodded slowly, shovelling a chunk of turkey burger dinosaur into her mouth. “And then the class was confused because it’s a mummy and a daddy, not a daddy and a daddy – so the teacher had to explain that some people are daddy and daddy and mummy and mummy.”

“Right,” Clarke nodded, urging her onwards when she paused.

“So I said that my mummy – you – dated women as well as men, and my friends didn’t believe me.” Clarke frowned, spearing a runaway pea with her fork.

“They didn’t believe you?” She shook her head.

“No, and I told them about Lexa, but they didn’t believe me still.” Clarke sighed.

“Well, some people just might not believe you – but you and I know the truth.” Viola nodded slowly, flattening out her mash with the back of her fork.

“Mr Blake said that too,” she agreed quietly.

-

In November, Clarke had to attend a parents evening.

It wasn’t that she particularly disliked them – because they were fine, really. But it was always sad to go and look through Viola’s work without someone with her, and she preferred it when there was someone she could smile at and say _look what my kid did_. Lexa had tried to be that for her, for a while, but Vi didn’t like her very much, and Lexa was just terrible with children. So she was back to staring at Viola’s drawings and not being able to show them to anyone, and say _my kid is drawing, my kid likes art, she’s taking after me, do you see this?_

So, Clarke was only encouraged to attend the parents evening because it was for her child.

She had booked her time slot over a letter, and Viola had brought back another a week later with the timing – 7.10pm – so Clarke and Viola wandered into the school twenty minutes beforehand. Her daughter led her into the assembly hall; four class rooms, a library and a music room leading off from different doors, as well as access to the two stairwells at either end. The floor was practically a mirror, because of how well it was cleaned, and the walls were decorated with art work. On one wall there was a mural, clearly done by the kids; of the school building and the faces of teachers and students filling the windows and the grass outside.

Viola led her by her hand over to her class’ section. Laid out on tables were trays, each filled with the students’ work, and Clarke wandered through the tables until she found G – for Griffin. They picked up her tray and Clarke sat down on a chair, thumbing through her drawings and work books while Viola ran to her friends.

Clarke, by the way, forced herself to keep it together. This was because she was alone, and anyone would see her cry or get teary-eyed over her kid’s drawing of ‘draw your family’ – which, by the way, consisted of Clarke, Viola, Raven and Wells (drawn with the same brown pencil) and Monty and Jasper, all standing in a line with a yellow sun, the same shade as her hair and grass at their feet. Not to mention that her maths quizzes were always graded with a ten out of ten, and a little smiley face sticker alongside the amazingly neat ‘Good job, Vi!’ written in the margins.

Her English books were similar, with the same bright red ticks down the side, next to her paragraphs of ‘describe this’ and ‘describe that’. (Clarke did, in fact, take out her phone to photograph the ‘describe your parents’ paragraph, in which Viola talked about Clarke’s hair and her smile and the gallery she owned with all the nice artists, and the pretty dresses she got to wear when she went to the exhibition openings – which she spelt exi-bi-shun. At the end of the paragraph she wrote that she didn’t have a daddy, but that was okay because Aunt Raven picked her up from school and Uncle Wells helped her with her homework, and Uncle Monty helped her tidy her room and Uncle Jasper showed her how to make cookies.)

“Clarke? Clarke Griffin?” A voice called out, and Clarke looked up from her daughter’s work on the Egyptian gods and their family tree, to look around. The teacher at the door held a clipboard, looking around for the parent who responded.

“Yeah?” Clarke replied, standing. She gripped the tray tightly, finally landing her eyes on his face. He nodded, barely glancing at her, before scribbling something on his clipboard.

“Great,” he smiled, looking up now. They both froze for a moment, caught in some sort of stand-off where they both stared and the world stopped turning. Then he swallowed and coughed, forcing his eyes away from her. “Good, you’ve uh, you’ve got her work. Um, follow me inside.” Clarke nodded, more than once, and more to herself, glancing around to catch Viola’s eye. She pointed that she was going inside and Viola gave her a thumbs up, before going back to talking.

She swallowed, moving into Mr Blake’s classroom and shutting the door behind her. She knew she’d recognise the freckles smattered across his caramel skin anywhere; she just didn’t expect to find them on her daughter’s teacher.

Clarke awkwardly sat down opposite him at the table; placing the tray gently down in front of her. Mr Blake nodded a few times before looking at her and sighing.

“Okay, so we both know that we, uh,” he trailed off, coughing.

“Had sex in the break room of a bar, yes,” Clarke nodded, not one to beat around the bush. Mr Blake grimaced, interlacing his fingers in front of him. A pair of glasses sat on the table, but he seemed to be doing fine without them. His hair wasn’t as unruly as she remembered it to be, but she supposed that was more for the job. He still had the same dark eyes and the same jaw line, and everything about him was beautiful. Astronomically beautiful.

“Right, yes,” he agreed. “That. But, um, that’s in the past. I’m a teacher now, evidently, and I’m your daughter’s teacher.” _And yours also_ , Clarke added in her mind. The issue with this, was that she had no idea how to tell him – if she should tell him, that Viola was his, also. But then he kept talking, and she had to focus on his words, and not on the problem. “So, I think we should focus on her progress, and put that behind us.”

“Yes, exactly,” Clarke smiled, only quickly glancing to his ring finger, and finding it bare.

“Great, so she’s actually been doing great, since she started here. Really, very smart, and her quizzes are always from eight to ten out of ten – which is highest in the class by far.” He kept on like that, telling Clarke about their daughter’s progress, without knowing that he was talking about his own child, and Clarke smiled because her kid was practically a genius and Bellamy smiled because he was excited to have a child so interested in learning in his class.

“I do want to ask though,” he continued, fingering through the papers and pulling out the drawing she’d been looking at earlier; Viola drawing her family. “We use these drawings not just to keep the kids entertained, but it also gives a decent representation of what their home lives are like, and how happy they are.” Clarke nodded slowly, smiling still at the image in front of her. “She talks a lot about all of her Aunts and Uncles, and how she has them because she doesn’t have a dad. Once she claimed that you _traded_ her father for them.” Clarke raised her eyebrows at this.

“Really?” He nodded.

“I’m only telling you this because I want to make sure she doesn’t have the wrong idea in her head, or goes around saying it.”

“Does she say anything else like that?” He paused before shrugging.

“Not really, but whenever we mention parents in stories or, um,” he pointed at the diagram, on the wall. It was a pyramid, with lots of little Egyptian god drawings; each coloured by a student, with their name at the bottom. She’d heard a little about it, Viola telling her it was a point system, in which the more points your earned in class, the higher you were on the pyramid – and if you reached the top, you won a prize. “Or when I teach them about the mythology of the Egyptians, she gets grumpy or closed off.” Clarke sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“Yeah, I get that,” she nodded. “She asks about fathers quite a bit, really. Each time I tell her she doesn’t have one, I also tell her that it’s okay because she has all of my friends, who are family too.” Mr Blake nodded, too, his smile sympathetic.

“Well, I’m sure it’s what’s best, Miss Griffin.”

“Clarke,” she corrected with a nod.

“Clarke,” he agreed. They were silent for a moment or so before he piled the papers back into the tray. “Otherwise, Viola’s progress is stunning for a child of her age – she has some good genes in her.” They smiled at each other and Clarke picked up the tray, saying her goodbye.

As they reached the door, she rested the tray on her hip and shook his hand.

“Bellamy,” he told her. She frowned.

“What?”

“My name,” Mr Blake smiled. “It’s Bellamy. I thought you should at least know that?” Clarke smiled once more, nodding. She remembered that he had a pretty name to go with his pretty face.

“Bellamy,” she repeated. “It was nice to meet you. If Vi does ever go off about not having a father, would it be all right if you alerted me?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “It’s what I do… besides teaching.” Clarke nodded, not able to surpress her grin.

“Well I would hope so, Bellamy.”

She left then, putting her daughter’s tray back where she found it and only glancing back to Mr Bl- _Bellamy_ , once before wandering over to where Viola was seated.

“Come on, Vi,” she smiled. “We’re going.”

In the car, Viola strapped on her seat belt and looked over. “What did he say?” She asked curiously.

“He told me you were a terror child,” Clarke shrugged. Viola huffed as Clarke smiled. “He told me you were very smart and very capable.” She decided not to address the father thing – not tonight, when he was suddenly no longer a figment of Clarke’s imagination, and instead a very real aspect of her life.

 -

“He’s Rapunzel’s teacher,” Raven repeated back slowly, wide eyed. Viola was at Lucy’s house so Clarke had called a family meeting; her and her four friends were sat in the living room, each with a drink in their hand, trying to understand her problem. They were all sat on the floor, around the coffee table, instead of on the seats.

“He’s Viola’s teacher,” Clarke nodded, agreeing.

“Did he recognise you?” Monty asked from opposite her. Clarke nodded.

“Immediately. And we even had the let’s-not-make-this-awkward talk, because we were both there for Vi, not for us.”

“Wait,” Jasper held up a hand, placing his mug on the table in front of him. “Did you tell him he was the father?” Clarke paused, deciding to take a sip from her drink instead of replying. Her friends groaned, leaning back against the sofas and armchairs behind them.

“She’s a lost cause,” Raven sighed.

“Do you think we could get our money back on her?” Jasper asked. Clarke rolled her eyes at their dramatics, placing her mug down in front of her.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Wells asked kindly; trying to at least give her a say. Clarke shrugged.

“Didn’t feel right. I’d only just seen him for the first time in nine years! I couldn’t just outright _say oh yeah, you’re Vi’s father, sorry about that_.” She sighed, tipping her head back. “I don’t want to put that on him.”

“You can’t just not tell him,” Raven replied.

“To be fair,” Monty pointed out. “She did try for months on end, back when she was pregnant. Like, up until it was exceptionally obvious that she was heavily pregnant and sent us instead.”

“Yeah, and he was just gone,” Clarke agreed. “This isn’t my fault.”

“Well it will be,” Raven told her. “If you leave it for too long, now, it entirely _will_ be your fault if you don’t tell him.” Clarke huffed, shutting her eyes. She knew Raven was right.

-

At work, Clarke span in her office chair, waiting for her appointment. The gallery was hosting an exhibition, only a week or so away, by a local artist, and Clarke had already done all of the advertising for it, but was still waiting on the instillations. The artist was meeting with her today, but she had come early to clear out her office, and was left with dead time.

Clarke hated dead time, because it was wasting so many moments she could be doing other things. But her sketchbooks were all at home, and she’d replied all of her emails, and the calendar was up to date. Really, though, she didn’t want to be left to think about Bellamy and the situation with her kid.

Luckily, just as she resigned herself to mulling over the situation once more, the doorbell sounded. It was a high-pitched shrill of a noise, and Clarke snatched the keys from her desk as she left her office to open the front door.

The local artist was practically a beast of a man. A good few heads higher than her, Lincoln Woods had a shaved head (apart from a closely cropped Mohawk) and muscles that went on for days. Clarke had asked him how often he went to the gym during their first meeting, and he had smiled with a shrug. “Most days, but I’ve got a home gym now, so I can work out there instead.” She was admittedly a little jealous of his commitment to working out; wondering if she could do it that much herself. But then he’d told her that he was also an adrenaline junkie as it was; always skiing or skydiving with his fiancé, and she flushed her dreams down the toilet.

“Hey,” she smiled, unlocking and opening the door for him.

“Hey, Clarke,” he replied, stepping into the gallery. Clarke locked up behind him, and followed him throughout the space. He’d looked at it plenty of times, and she was still hoping that it was okay for him to use, because she really didn’t want the exhibition to fall through at such a late date. “I brought the photos you asked for.”

Clarke smiled warmly, nodding him to the centre of the room. She pulled two chairs and a small fold up table from the far end and they sat down, laying the photos out.

“So, is there any particular order they go in?” Clarke asked, looking at the photos. Lincoln’s exhibition was called ‘Eight’ and he’d looked at it in every conceivable manner; from Roman numerals to simply having eight paintings next to each other. There was a single sculpture that she was still trying to unravel, however.

“And where does this one go?” She asked a little while later, pointing at the image of metal sculpture. It was of a woman, that much was obvious, and areas were spray painted in different colours. Lincoln’s work was all very abstract, but she just hadn’t gotten the point of this singular piece.

“I was hoping it could go in the centre of the room,” he suggested, glancing down fondly at the sculpture. “It’s kind of the central focus.” Clarke raised her eyebrows, surprised.

“Really? I’ll be honest, I still don’t understand this piece in connection with all the others.” Lincoln smiled then, adjusting one of the images so it was straighter against the edge of the table.

“That’s my fiancé,” he told her, affection laced in his tone. “Her name is Octavia; it means eight.” The pieces suddenly connected in Clarke’s mind and she nodded for him to continue. “I started creating the pieces when we started dating, and their all representing a different memory of her that I have, or something about her life. Sappy, I know.”

“No, I really like that, Lincoln,” Clarke smiled. “Has she seen them all?” He shook his head.

“She hasn’t seen the sculpture of her, yet – that’s one’s actually titled ‘Octavia’, as well.” Clarke nodded, scribbling the title of the central piece in her work.

“That’s really great though,” she told him. “I can’t wait to see her face when she comes in.”

“Me, too,” Lincoln nodded.

-

It was only a few days later when the phone rang in her office. Clarke braced herself for a moment, shooting a look towards Maya, the other woman who worked at the gallery with her. Maya nodded with a smile, picking up her empty mug and heading out the door. Then Clarke answered the phone.

“Drop Ship Art Gallery, Clarke Griffin speaking,” she answered, sitting up straight.

“Hi, Miss Griffin, my name’s Marcus Kane; the principle of Ark Primary.”

“Oh,” she replied, slumping a little. “Of course. What do I owe the pleasure?” She heard him sigh a little down the line and Clarke tallied up the reasons for his call in her head; maybe Vi was sick, maybe she was missing, maybe she’d put two and two together about Mr Blake and her mother and was throwing a tantrum.

“Your daughter, Viola,” Mr Kane sighed. “She’s gotten into a fight.”

“A fight,” Clarke repeated, out of sheer disbelief.

“Yes; she’s sitting in the waiting room now with the boy she punched.”

“Wait,” Clarke swallowed, shutting her eyes for a brief moment. “Let me get this straight – my daughter; my child who is still afraid of the monster under her bed, and isn’t allowed to carry more than two things at a time because she is as clumsy as anything, _punched_ another child.”

“Yes, Ms Griffin,” Mr Kane replied. “This is a shock to everyone, I know. But we would appreciate it very much if you came down to the school to pick her up.” Clarke nodded.

“Absolutely,” she replied, half-heartedly.  She hung up the phone, taking a few deep breaths before pushing away from the desk. Clarke collected her things, stalking out of her office. She quickly ducked her head into the kitchen, where Maya was making another tea for herself.

“Oh, Clarke,” Maya smiled warmly. “Is everything okay? Would you like another coffee?” Clarke couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks but no thanks, Maya,” she replied. “Vi’s gotten into a fight and I have to go down to the school – are you okay to lock up?” Maya nodded.

“Oh, yes, that’s fine,” Maya agreed. “Would you like me to come with you, for moral support?” Clarke exhaled a grin.

“I’m fine, thank you, Maya. But if you want to go ahead and start with the lights in the showroom, or anything like that, just go for it.” Maya nodded happily and Clarke thanked her before rushing down the stairs and through the exhibition room towards the street.

She pulled up at Ark Primary only ten minutes later, straightening her back and looking directly forward as she headed into the school. She could hear the sounds of the children on their lunch break, in the playground at the back of the school, and was thankful that the building wouldn’t be silent; because she always felt like she would have to whisper when it was.

 _Un_ fortunately, because it was break time, Mr Blake – Bellamy – was available and waiting in the head master’s office, when she signed in. Clarke quickly knelt down by Viola, pressing a kiss to her forehead and running a gentle thumb over the bruising around her eye, before heading into the office.

“Ah, Miss Griffin,” Principle Kane nodded. He looked just as she remembered from standing, looking official, by the door on parents evening, and the times she’d looked around the school the year before.

“Principle Kane,” Clarke nodded respectfully, shutting the door behind her. Bellamy was sat in one of the two chairs, on the closer side of the large, mahogany desk, with Kane on the other. “Mr Blake.” He nodded back, a grimace on his face, before looking back to the Principle.

“Take a seat, Miss Griffin,” Kane suggested, gesturing with his hand. She did as she was told, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. Clarke knew she had some regal air about her; her family came from old money; both her mother and father world-renowned in their fields. Clarke had grown up with tutors teaching her about keeping her back straight, her head up, her features in a steely gaze.

“So, as you know, Viola got into a fight, today.” Clarke nodded, not amused in the slightest. “I was just discussing with Mr Blake, here, about how it happened.” He nodded towards Bellamy, who sighed, sitting up. He contrasted a lot with Clarke; slouching instead of sitting like he had a pole for a spine; his legs crossed, knee to ankle, and his arms resting on the sides of the chair, instead of on his lap.

“I think one of the other kids – Daniel – said something rude about you, and Vi got very defensive, very quickly.” Clarke stiffened a little; it was one thing to protect herself, but Clarke didn’t want Vi fighting for her mother, instead. (Clarke didn’t miss how Bellamy used the same nickname as she did.)

“Do you know what was said?” Bellamy paused before sighing.

“Yes,” he replied, seemingly not wanting to give up the information.

“Well?” Principle Kane asked.

“Daniel has been semi-harassing Vi for the past few weeks, really; I’ve kept them apart, tried getting him to apologise, generally just everything I could think of to help them get along. But he’s constantly pulling out the lesbian mother card, and um,” Bellamy coughed into one hand, and used the other to rub the back of his neck. “Today, Viola said that he allegedly called you a ‘disgrace to humanity’.” Clarke pursed her lips in thought, nodding her head slowly.

“Did she punch first?” She asked. Mr Blake looked surprised for a moment then nodded.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Fine, what’s her punishment?”

“Um, Miss Griffin,” Kane started unsurely. “Are you sure you don’t-“

“Principle Kane,” Clarke interrupted with all the steeliness her mother had engrained into her. “The opinion of a child who doesn’t understand homosexuality doesn’t really matter to me – at that age, I didn’t understand it, either. For the record,” she added, glancing to Mr Blake. “I’m bisexual, but bullies will always focus on something that’s away from the norm; such as my last relationship being with a woman. Viola doesn’t care if I’m with women, and neither do I. Frankly, if it had been an adult, saying those things to me, I would have punched him, too.”

The office went silent for a moment, and Clarke glanced over to Bellamy, finding him supressing a smile and pointedly looking away from her. Principle Kane seemed more shell-shocked than anything, so Clarke continued, using the upper-hand she’d been given.

“So, as I said, what’s her punishment?”

-

Only a matter of minutes later, Clarke left the office, crouching down in front of Viola once more.

“He punched you back, huh?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Viola nodded; according to Mr Blake she hadn’t even cried once, and she looked far from doing so now.

“I punched first,” she replied. “If he’d punched first, I would’ve punched back, too.” Clarke grinned at her daughter, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Me too,” she whispered, making Viola giggle. “But, Vi, violence isn’t the answer, and you shouldn’t resort to it, okay? You're not allowed to come into school tomorrow because you hit him, all right?” Viola nodded, frowning. Clarke straightened then, watching as another woman hurried into the reception, where the kids were sat. Clarke glanced at a boy, sitting a couple seats away from Viola, and the black eye he was sporting, too.

The woman, who she assumed to be his mother, knelt down in front of him, talking in hushed tones. Then he nodded towards them, and she stood abruptly.

“Your daughter punched my son,” she accused in a clipped tone.

“I’m aware,” Clarke replied, equally as icily. “Your son punched my daughter. He’s also fairly homophobic, which I hope will deteriorate with age.” She took her daughter’s hand, quickly signing herself out on the sheet, and glancing back to the office where Bellamy stood, watching, ready to speak to the other parent. “Mr Blake,” she nodded. Viola glanced back, now, smiling, waving her hand happily.

“Bye!” She called as Clarke tugged her along. She stopped to glance at Daniel, glaring at her. She rolled her eyes, before leaving swiftly, Vi walking faster to keep up with her. She knew Daniel would learn, eventually, but she didn’t have any respect for his actions and the way he handled it all.

So Clarke took Viola home and let her eat her lunch out of her lunch box, even though they were at home with plates readily available. Near the end of her lunch, Clarke sat down next to her.

“You don’t mind that I date women as well as men, right?” Clarke asked quietly. Viola stopped eating, placing her half-eaten chocolate bar back in the box, turning to her mother. Even though the tips of her fingers were coated in chocolate, she reached out, holding Clarke’s hand.

“I don’t mind at all,” Viola replied happily. “It’s just the same as Monty and Jasper liking each other, right?” Clarke nodded. “Yeah, and Monty just likes boys, which is why he likes Jasper, and Jasper told me that he likes boys and girls, like you, which is why he likes Monty. But Jasper could also like a girl if he wanted to.” Viola nodded, as if all of this made sense and Clarke smiled.

“I love you,” she said quietly, kissing the top of Viola’s head. Vi pulled away, picking up her chocolate bar again.

“Love you, too, Mama Griffin,” she grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYE THANK YOU FOR READING  
> Please please please talk to me in the comments - tell me what you liked, disliked, loved, wanted deleted. I love all comments so please tell me and then I can talk to you!
> 
> The second part will be out by the 3rd of November at the VERY latest


	2. I Don't Know How To Live Without Your Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH  
> THANK YOU FOR THE LOVELY COMMENTS SO FAR, PLEASE KEEP THEM COMING.  
> You guys are absolutely fantastic; thanks for reading so far. This is the not-so-thrilling conclusion to I'm Still An Exception; Bellamy finding out about Vi. Please remember that I have an issue with writing satisfactory ending scenes; and that the final part may not be great. I did rewrite it a few times, and adding in slightly more daddy!Bellamy, because I heard that's what you guys are looking forward to, but I am considering writing something else in this universe, because I'm too attached to 'lioness Mama Griffin' to let her go just yet.
> 
> ENJOY

Finally, the day of the exhibition was upon her. The past three days had been exceptionally hectic for Clarke; Raven and Jasper took turns picking up Viola and making her dinner, while Monty and Wells alternated between tucking her into bed and helping her with her homework. Clarke was constantly out; she, Lincoln and Maya barely left the gallery; making sure every sculpture was placed in the exact right position; every painting was level and evenly spaced from the others. All of them had to be titled correctly and the few that were on sale needed the right prices by them, as well as the right information to how they could be bought.

The floor was constantly being cleaned from where workers, bringing in the sculptures, were tracking dirt across the hard wood floors, and Lincoln was working for hours on end, finishing the pieces that had to be connected in the hall; for fear they wouldn’t fit through the door. Maya had hung all of the fairy lights across the ceiling, and each bulb was working perfectly. The amount of people who would be catering, serving food, checking tickets were all accounted for, and at five ‘o’clock, Lincoln smiled, relieved and worn out, before ducking out of the gallery to go home and change.

Clarke and Maya went through the door, hidden in the far end of the gallery, and up the stairs to their offices and toilet, before getting changed up there, Maya pinning Clarke’s hair up, and curling the tendrils that fell around her face, and Clarke straightening and fixing Maya’s.

“You ready?” Maya asked as they descended the stairs, careful on high heels.

“I’m never ready,” Clarke replied with a sigh. “You know that.” From behind her, Maya smiled, and the two walked out into the exhibition room.

“Ten minutes left,” Maya told her in a sing-song voice, and Clarke rolled her eyes. A few minutes later, Viola stepped through the door; her frame wrapped in a deep purple dress that jutted out at the hips and fell to her knees.

“Hey Mama,” she smiled, skipping over.

“Hey Vi,” Clarke replied, crouching down. “Don’t you look pretty?” Viola span around in her dress, grinning, before Clarke stood back up. Raven walked across the room to meet her, black dress and hair loose and straight. Clarke’s own black dress was form fitting, down to her hips, and flowing gently to the floor.

“Where’s the others?” Clarke asked nervously. Raven rolled her eyes.

“They’ll be here,” she promised. “But they had to change. I sorted out the baby Princess by myself.” Clarke nodded and gestured for them to look around the exhibits; watching as Vi’s face lit up over different pieces. The metal wonder of a woman in the centre of the room had only been finished an hour or so beforehand; each section was brought in independently before being fit together. In person, she resembled Aphrodite, coming out of the sea; but Lincoln told her that she had been named by her brother, after Emperor Augustus’ sister. She could see the Roman influence in the hints of clothing and hair, welded from silver metal.

-

Octavia, herself, was just as beautiful as her sculpture – even when trying to hold back tears at seeing the centre of the show. Clarke grinned, watching the woman, average height but built like a runner; dark blue dress and heels that made her legs go for miles, as she embraced Lincoln. She was introduced a few minutes later.

“Lincoln hasn’t stopped talking about this for months,” Octavia smiled, looking at her fiancé as he spoke to some buyers that Clarke had invited. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem,” Clarke replied warmly. “I love this exhibition almost like a child.” Octavia raised an eyebrow, amused.

“I thought the saying was that it _was_ like a child, not almost,” she pointed out. Clarke grinned.

“Well, I have a child, so I know the difference by this point. The show didn’t need constant vigilance because it might get its hands on scissors and cut its hair off.” Lincoln’s fiancé laughed at that, and Clarke couldn’t help but note that if she had seen this woman in a bar, she would have definitely asked her out.

Then Viola stepped up and Octavia went to ‘be arm-candy’ once more, and Clarke didn’t mind one bit.

“What’s up, buttercup?” She asked Vi, pulling her along through the show.

“There’s someone I want you to see,” Viola grinned.

“What do you mean, Vi?” She asked. “I’ve seen practically everyone.”

“Not everyone,” her daughter promised. So Clarke let herself be pulled through the exhibit, stopping only to smile at different guests and welcome them while her daughter tapped her foot impatiently. The show was packed; seemingly a big success, and Clarke could already see the number of dots lined up next to the photographic pieces that were on sale; each one representing a different buyer.

When her daughter stopped, Clarke looked up, finding herself a metre or so away from Bellamy Blake, staring at one of the sculptures; based on the Roman numerals for the number eight, but with each area depicting not only Roman living, but of a baby and an older boy – Octavia’s brother, Lincoln had told her. Clarke was surprised to find Bellamy standing there, but her daughter had run off suddenly and Clarke didn’t know what else to do but go and speak to him.

“Funny seeing you here,” she greeted, stepping up beside him. Bellamy looked just as surprised to see her outside of school as she did him.

“Miss Grif-“

“Clarke,” she corrected.

“Clarke,” he agreed, smiling. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here?” Clarke raised her eyebrows.

“I own the gallery,” she replied. Bellamy was surprised even more now, as if he’d been beaten out on his reason of attendance. “What about you? I didn’t see your name on the guest list.” He nodded.

“I received one of Lincoln’s extra tickets,” he informed her. Clarke raised an eyebrow at this. “Yeah, my sister’s getting married to him in a few months, and he said the entire exhibition was about her, so.” He trailed off, nodding, as Clarke stepped back.

The boy in the sculpture before them was Bellamy; as was the child who named his sister after an Emperor’s sibling. The boy in the paintings were all him and she was surprised that her life was just a circle; spinning back on itself. The universe took a singular encounter from nine years beforehand and brought him back into her life in every conceivable manner. She wondered then, if it was just the universe telling her to tell him about Viola; about the child they created together. She also wondered if it was something more, because the look in his eye when he stared at her, now – it was something more than just platonic interest, she was sure.

And he was every bit as beautiful as she remembered, and Viola spoke about him as often as possible; her favourite teacher she’d ever had.

Clarke swallowed, turning back to the painting.

“That’s a surprise,” she decided to say. He nodded, next to her, and they slowly moved around to the photograph on the wall; twelve dots so far by its side. It was just of a portion of Octavia’s face, greyscale, and it somehow came out beautifully; like the world could understand the woman in the image without learning any more about her.

“I think it’s a surprise that you keep popping up everywhere,” Bellamy replied. She raised her eyebrows once more but didn’t take her eyes off the photo. “First school, now here – and I keep seeing you in the supermarket but losing my nerve to come and talk to you.”

Clarke exhaled a smile, glancing up at him now. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to her, and the tone of his voice sounded as if he really did mean it. “But I have to ask why you walked out, all those years ago. I mean, I understood as well as you that it was just a one-time thing – but…” he trailed off, his hand finding the back of his neck and a sheepish look on his face.

“I was confused about a lot of stuff,” she told him. “That’s why I wanted it in the first place – not to mention that you were immediately charming from the moment I sat down.” He smiled a little there. “I left because that’s all it was; a one-time thing. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. It doesn’t mean I didn’t come back, looking for you, though.”

“You did?” His voice sounded shocked and hopeful and Clarke smiled at that.

“Yeah,” she replied, glancing back at the photo before him again. “At first, it was wholly because of you; but you were never there, you know? After a while, I came a lot more often, searching for you.”

“Why’s that?” She swallowed, her eyes scanning the crowd and locking on her daughter for one second; her purple dress spinning from her waist, her hands in Wells’, her feet on his. She turned back to Bellamy, finding his eyes solely on her.

“I came back over and over; I asked after you and all anyone would tell me was that you were gone, or you quit; they would never give me any way to find you, and after a while I started sending in my friends, too – to see if they could spot you, instead.” She sighed, seeing the confusion flitter across his features. “I got pregnant, Bellamy,” she swallowed. “I kept coming back so I could tell you.”

The hope that she’d heard in his voice only a minute ago seemed like a pipe dream now. He was confused and afraid and annoyed; everything seemed to pass through his features in one moment. She thought about her daughter’s features, though; the freckles across the bridge of her nose, just like his; the way her skin wasn’t as pale as her mother’s, almost tanned in a perpetual way. Her hair was curly, like Bellamy’s seemed to be, unlike her mother’s barely-there waves. The jaw line was his, the nose was his, the eyes were his, and she watched it all link up in his mind; the cogs turning in his head as he listed down every feature that were his, his, his.

They were silent for a while, and Clarke moved slowly around him, to the next piece, as he followed, dazed.

“Um,” he mumbled, not sure what to say and Clarke smiled as warmly as she could whilst tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

“It’s fine, Bellamy,” she told him carefully. “I just wanted you to know.” He nodded, albeit unsurely, before glancing around the room, his eyes landing on her daughter – their daughter – just like hers had.

“Does she know?” He rasped. She shook her head, staring at the gold that was applied generously to the painting.

“No; like I said before, she’s asked about having a father, but she didn’t have one, she’s learning to accept it. She has her Aunt and Uncles, though.” He nodded and she wondered if he was thinking about the small portion of her words, too: _she didn’t have a father._ He opened his mouth to speak once more, but a brunette appeared at his side with a wide smile: Octavia.

“Hey, Bell!” She grinned, linking her arm with his. “Clarke – how do you guys know each other?” Bellamy seemed to be floundering, so Clarke smiled warmly.

“He teaches my daughter,” she replied.

“Really?” Octavia asked. “The little blonde girl?”

“Yeah, Viola,” Clarke nodded.

“Oh, she was so cute – she came up to Lincoln and congratulated him on the exhibition.” Octavia paused for a moment. “She couldn’t pronounce ‘exhibition’, but the sentiment was there all the same.” Clarke exhaled a smile and she noticed Bellamy doing it too, despite himself. Octavia glanced between the two of them. “Are you guys okay? You seem a little… _off_?” Clarke nodded.

“We’re fine, O,” Bellamy supplied. “Seeing you everywhere was just really creeping me out.” Octavia rolled her eyes. “One is enough.” Octavia laughed, shaking her head.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to imagine you raising twenty of me, by yourself.” Bellamy grinned down at his sister, and Clarke’s heart strings tugged for a moment, like she did whenever she thought about the life she might have had, if she had been able to find him again.

“Oh, God, O,” he groaned. “One was more than enough – you’re practically a force of nature.” Octavia grinned up at her brother, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. The conversation was over, for now, but at least she could say that he knew about his daughter.

-

On the Monday, Clarke returned from the gallery, to find Viola sulking.

“What’s wrong?” She’d asked Jasper, after Vi wouldn’t respond to her, to keep up with the angry act.

“Apparently Mr Blake was ill today, so he wasn’t in school,” Jasper shrugged. Clarke sighed, texting the others and calling a family meeting.

-

It happened while Viola was at Jamie’s house on Wednesday, after school. Her friends all let themselves into her house, got themselves a drink and sat on the floor around the coffee table.

“What did you do?” Raven asked, arriving last and sitting down with a dry look on her face. Clarke sighed; Viola had told her that he was ill on Tuesday, too – and she guessed Wednesday also, because Jamie’s mother, Harper, texted that, _for the record, Vi was annoyed when she was picked up, and it wasn’t her doing._

“I told Bellamy,” Clarke said immediately.

“Told him what?” Wells asked slowly.

“I told him that Vi was his kid.” The group was silent, and then all that happened was Raven carefully moving the drinks away from her, and banging her head on the coffee table a few times.

“Oh,” Monty said, unhelpfully.

“Oh,” Clarke agreed. She leant back against the sofa, sipping at her coffee and wholly feeling sorry for herself.

“How’d he take it?” She swallowed, shrugging.

“Okay, I think. Shell-shocked. Confused, and then Octavia – his sister – came over, and she’s a frigging ball of sunshine; changed the topic, changed the mood, I don’t know.” Clarke sighed heavily and Raven sat back up again.

“And you haven’t spoken since?” Clarke shook her head. “Well, you need to go talk to him, then.”

“I can’t go and talk to him – he literally avoided school so he wouldn’t have to face this.”

“Maybe he was actually ill,” Jasper suggested. Raven rolled her eyes, ignoring him.

“He can’t avoid you if you just sit down with him, and have an honest-to-God discussion, right?”

“I don’t want a discussion,” Clarke replied. “I just wanted him to know that he had a daughter. I wanted it to be over after that.”

“But it’s not, Clarky,” Raven said, shaking her head. “It’s not over, because now there’s a man out there, nice and funny from what I’ve been told, who’s good with kids and seems to like you well enough, and he’s got a child and doesn’t know what to do about it. Hell! The child is in his class – he has to face it, but he doesn’t know his limits; he doesn’t know what he can and can’t do.” Clarke swallowed, sitting up and placing her drink on the table.

“You’re right,” she agreed.

“I know,” Raven replied.

-

It took a week, and Bellamy was back at school the day after the meeting, but when Clarke finally found him, it was a Friday night and he was sitting at the same bar they met at, nine years beforehand. She only wandered in because it had been a long week and she needed a drink while Viola was sleeping over at Lucy’s – and the bar, even though it was the one she conceived her daughter in, was still local and still her favourite.

So she didn’t expect Bellamy to be sitting at the bar, nursing a pint.

And he didn’t expect her to sit down beside him.

But that’s exactly what she did, smiling at the bartender as she went. “Jack and Coke, please.” Bellamy looked up and sighed, looking away again as Clarke ordered and she sat, silently with her drink, until he spoke.

“What are you doing here?” he asked eventually.

“I needed a drink in a public place to make sure I wouldn’t get embarrassingly drunk,” she replied easily, before taking a sip from her glass. He was quiet again and the two stayed silent until Clarke thought of something to say. “I know it’s crappy, Bellamy, but I’m really happy this happened.” He was quiet for a moment before he looked over.

“You’re happy you got pregnant from a one night stand?” She turned to face him, carefully lying her glass on the bar.

“I’m happy I have Viola – I’m happy I have a daughter and I’m happy I got pregnant, even if I wasn’t ready for it at the time. Sure, I would have preferred to know the guy for longer than twenty minutes before we procreated-“ Bellamy exhaled a smile. “But I didn’t, and I don’t mind. So, I know it’s difficult for you, and you can take as long as you want before you decide if you do anything about it or not; that’s fine. But I just want you to know that I’m happy. That… thank you, Bellamy.” He straightened a little, confused. “Thank you for giving me Viola.”

They were quiet and Clarke finished her drink and got half way through another before Bellamy spoke to her again.

“It’s really hard,” he told her. “It’s really fucking hard to wrap my head around all of this. And to see her every day in school and know something she doesn’t.” Clarke nodded, carefully placing her hand on top of his on the bar.

“I know.”

“And now every time she does something I’m just seeing myself in her, you know? I mean, I know it’s nurture – not nature – and people act how they’ve been raised, not how their genes tell them to; but I see all these things in her that I did at that age. Do you know how hard she works? She’s so careful about everything she does, and she can’t play an instrument for shit but she still tries anyway.” The two of them laugh at that, and Bellamy turns his hand, under hers, lacing their fingers together. “She’s great, Clarke – you made something amazing.”

“ _We_ made something amazing, Bell,” she smiled.

“Yeah but you put in all the leg work. I just quit a week after we hooked up because I was finally accepted to a university, and you’re left to look after her on your own.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted

“No, it’s not,” he sighed. “My parents weren’t there for O or for me – I don’t want it to be like that for her. I mean, I know she has you and all those friends of yours who pick her up from school and stuff, but – she doesn’t have a father.” She watched him carefully as he strained for the right words. “I never had a dad, Clarke. I never got that. I know it’s asking too much to want something different for her, I know-“

“It’s not, Bellamy,” she replied. “She deserves to have two whole parents. And I promise that if you want that, we can work up to that.”

“You want that?” He asked. She paused before nodding.

“I want her to be happy. I want you to be happy, too.” They stared at each other for a moment before nodding; Clarke smiling a little as she searched his face. He looked far more relaxed than when she came in, and the heavy feeling in her chest that she’d had since she first saw him again on parents evening was gone. They drank their drinks together, not separating their hands, and Bellamy laughed. “What?” Clarke asked.

Bellamy smiled, shaking his head at her, as if everything was still sinking in; he was still experiencing being a parent for the first time. “She has my freckles,” he grinned.

-

A month or so later, they hit New Years Eve, and Clarke stood by the wall of Raven’s apartment as the clock counted down. A figure appeared next to her and she glanced up, finding Bellamy smiling softly. He leaned down carefully, before speaking, quiet and low.

“Viola beat me at Twister,” he smiled into her ear. Clarke grinned back at him, shaking her head.

“She _is_ the master,” Clarke agreed.

“Did she learn it from you?” She shook her head once more.

“I am the least flexible person on Earth, but surely you didn’t come over here to boast about my child’s ability to play Twister.” Clarke raised a pointed eyebrow at him, and Bellamy smirked back. Clarke was tired of having a platonic relationship with him; she was tired of seeing him as a friend and not reminding herself how his lips felt, pressed up against hers. They were working up to him being a father for Viola; and right now, their daughter saw him as her teacher and as her mother’s friend; another Uncle to add to the list. But Clarke wanted more, and she had been guessing, from the look in his eye, that he did, too.

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted. Around them, people started counting from ten; ten seconds left until the new year, the next leaf of their books. Clarke didn’t want to start that year without Bellamy, as strange as it was to admit. She had gone nine years without him, but now he was here, she wasn’t willing to let him go.

“Well what did you come here to do?” Clarke asked. Her eyes flitted to his Adam’s apple, bobbing as he swallowed, and then to his lips, nearing hers.

“I think you know,” he replied after a beat, his voice practically a whisper and Clarke had to strain to hear it over everyone’s cheers. “Happy New Year,” Bellamy told her, before his lips connected with hers and the room blew up in yells and streamers. Clarke’s hands cupped at his face, not wanting to pull apart just yet; loving the feel of his hands around her waist. When they did, though, Bellamy and Clarke stared at each other for a moment before grinning.

“You know what they say about kissing on New Years,” Clarke mused aloud. Bellamy raised his eyebrows. “You’re supposed to stay with them for the entire year.” He looked considering for a moment before nodding.

“I’m perfectly okay with that.”

-

They told Viola they were dating only a few days later, and it was August when they sat her down carefully, eight full months of dating down the line. Their daughter wrinkled up her nose before they’d said a single word.

“Are you getting married or something?” She asked. Clarke’s eyes widened as she hastened to correct her.

“No, honey, no, we’re not.” She heard Bellamy mumble ‘not yet, anyway’ behind her, and just sent back a pointed glare.

“Because if you are I don’t think I’d mind,” Viola continued, barely hearing Clarke’s reply. “I mean, he’s here practically all the time anyway, and he took me to the hospital when I broke my arm – so-“

“Vi,” Clarke smiled. “We’re not getting married.” She nodded, not seeming put out, and Clarke held back her grin over her daughter liking Bellamy enough for her to not mind if they were getting married. Instead, they told her that Bellamy was her birth father and that they’d met a long time ago, but lost touch, and he never knew that she existed until Clarke told him as much. Viola stayed silent for a long time before speaking again.

“So he’s my Dad?” She asked slowly. Clarke nodded.

“Genetically, anyway,” she agreed. The rule was still in place that Viola came first, when deciding if the person she was dating would be long term or not, but Viola loved Bellamy anyway, so she wasn’t worried. Instead, Viola was silent for a day or so, mulling over this information and the difference between Bellamy being her _step_ -father and _genetic_ father – long enough to make both parents afraid that they’d broken her, before she woke up one morning, and elected to help Bellamy make breakfast.

He’d relayed the story back to Clarke later, and Viola had smiled, saying “does this mean I have to call you Daddy, now?”

“If you don’t want to, you never have to, Vi,” Bellamy had replied. She had nodded, passing him the whisk for the pancake batter.

“I don’t think I want to just yet,” she told him. “But I will, one day.”

“Yeah?” He’d asked. She nodded.

“Yeah,” Viola had agreed.

And Viola had, a year later, when her parents got married. And she did it when she was trying to teach her brother and sister, Augustus and Andromeda to say ‘Daddy’ for the first time, and she did it when she was telling him to stop, because he was being gross, when he kissed Clarke, his wife, under the mistletoe, or on New Years, or every day before they went to work.

(Because, really, it had been nine years coming, and Bellamy liked making up for every day that they spent apart.)

(And Clarke didn’t mind one bit.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYE THANK YOU FOR READING  
> Please please PLEASE talk to me in the comments (I adored your comments from the last chapter, and I love talking to you guys) - tell me what you liked, disliked, loved, wanted deleted. I love all comments so please tell me and then I can talk to you!
> 
> Thanks for reading this fic, and remember you can subscribe to my account to hear when I post something new.

**Author's Note:**

> AYE THANK YOU FOR READING  
> Please please please talk to me in the comments - tell me what you liked, disliked, loved, wanted deleted. I love all comments so please tell me and then I can talk to you!
> 
> The second part will be out by the 3rd of November at the VERY latest.


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